


Simple Times

by Natflash



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Childhood Memories, Coffee, Gen, Rain, Wrote on a rainy day and posted on one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natflash/pseuds/Natflash
Summary: Rain falls on Teufort, and while listening to it patter against his camper van, Sniper brews a cup of coffee and reminiscences on a old memory from the outback.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I found this fic collecting metaphysical dust on my hard drive, so I decided to gloss it up and put it on here. Makes a nice first story on this website, methinks.

Thunder rolls somewhere in the distance and the evening sky darkens into a soft grey. Mist overtakes the forest with heavy breath, and at the Teufort base, rain soaks into old wood and rusted metal. The dry ground starts to turn muddy, dark and extremely sloppy, and cakes the wheels of a certain Australian van.

Sniper smiled from inside his camper, listening to the soft twittering of raindrops hit the roof. His coffee machine steams, and hearing it bubble and brew faithfully after so many years warms his heart. He might've proclaimed himself a loner, having no need for companionship, but coffee would forever be his true friend - especially if said friend packed a hell of a punch with its caffeine content.

The brew starts to pour in its pot. Sniper hums some old tune and watches it fill up with a wonderful drink and rich aroma while the rain beats steadily.

It's odd how both relax him, yet are completely different: one's hot and shuddering, and softly prods him awake each morning with a nice, steaming reward for rising. The other's cool, slick, that soothes his jittery nerves and lulls him into a hazy state of rest and relaxation.

It was an interesting contrast if nothing else.

Sniper hears the beep and chirp that proclaims his coffee is ready. He takes his favorite '#1 Sniper' mug from the tiny wall cabinet with the clink of porcelain, and pours himself a cup. The handle fits snugly around his fingers as he slides into the camper booth.

The rain's starting to come down hard now, as he adjusts his head against the crook of his arm and stares out the window. The hot coffee is a comfort, while he watches the drops thread and streak down the glass. Thunderstorms - even rain in general - was a lot easier to experience in America, what with transferring from base to base around the country. Australia never had this much rainfall; thinking of it stirs a growing memory.

* * *

A young boy, running around with his arms spread out, whooping with excitement as he dashes around barefoot in the wetting sand. His clothes are starting to cling to his skin, and he knows that his Mum will scold him for getting wet, but he doesn't really mind. The wind feels nice, cold and caressing his scruffy hair, and the ground feels strange and pleasurable when he wiggles his toes around.

The clouds above the boy are darkening and swirling, and precise lightning splinters the outback landscape. He flinches and whimpers a little when a particularly loud boom echoes off somewhere. He decides to turn tail and run, back up those four wooden steps and through the screen door, and stand shoeless on that prickly welcome mat.

Sure enough, his Mum comes in, gives him a shake of her head and a towel to wear, and shooes him up the staircase with a warning to not awaken his sleeping father. Young Sniper tip-toes to the second floor (taking extra precautions not to step on the squeaky eighth stair), and quietly shuffles into his room at the end of the hall.

Aw, hell, he forgot to close his window! He drops his towel in his panic and runs to the large, half-circle window, pulling it down and latching it shut. Something feels wet beneath his feet, and he observes the patch of soaked flooring, muttering under his breath. The boy takes his towel and smooths it on the floorboards, moving his foot atop it to swab away the dampness.

Satisfied by its decent dryness, the young Sniper finally makes his way to his wardrobe, pulling out a large, clean shirt, some underwear, and a pair of khakis. He squirms out of his uncomfortably damp tee and pants, rolls them up in a ball, and tosses it clean into the hamper at the corner of his room. He wiggles on his new undies and kicks one leg into his pants while flailing to get the other in. His dry shirt, two sizes too big, feels safe and loose, and smells like detergent and young, free memories.

He hops onto his bed, pushed into another corner, and grabs Brucey the Koala from his spot on his pillow. He snuggles against the plush, closing his eyes, and letting the sounds of rain wash over him.

* * *

Sniper jolts suddenly, realizing he was doing the same, and rubs the weariness out of his eyes. His mug had cooled in his hands, and outside the rain was still trailing down the window pane. He swallows down a bit of coffee - warm, but not hot; it'll still do. His tongue drags around the inside of his cheek while he looks up at the sky - the storm was supposed to last for just a few hours, but if the angry black clouds were anything to go by, it would be a lot longer than that.

He had originally planned on heading back into the base to nab a few extra coffee packets when the rain subsided, but soon decided he could wait until morning.

After all, coffee might've been his friend, but the rain was like a memory - nearly irreplaceable, no matter how old you became.

**Author's Note:**

> God bless TF2, from the brilliant characters to the zany hats. The fandom itself is kind of like your estranged uncle who vists every once or twice during family gatherings; full of hilarious stories and sometimes makes your parents nervous.


End file.
